


A Cuckoo in the Nest

by AraSigyrn



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Brownie is nesting catnip, Freddie doesn't share, Goalie Nesting (Hockey RPF), M/M, brief Carey Price/PK Subban, some dub-con manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn
Summary: Inspired by Bidawee's Nesting!AU.Two goalies plus one desirable nesting partner equals a bad night in the Bell Centre.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Connor Brown
Comments: 19
Kudos: 184





	A Cuckoo in the Nest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bidawee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/gifts).



It's Friday night in the Bell Centre and Zach comes off the ice in the second, panting and drops into the bench. 

"Price is beasting it up tonight," Mitch hollers into his ear.

"Yeah," Zach shakes his head. "I think my shins are all bruises."

Kappy scootches down the bench to lean in. "It's almost like he's nesting, isn't it?"

Naz snorts. "No way they'd be playing him if he was nesting. The League would crucify them."

Zach looks down the ice as he pops the top of his water bottle. Price is laser-focused, shouting at his defence-men. He's being pretty aggressive, shoving players out of his crease and swinging his stick like a madman. Zach looks down to where Sparky is standing on the edge of his crease and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Sparks isn't watching the play. Sparks is looking at Freddie and scuffing his skates back and forth on the ice.

"Coach?" Zach half-turns.

Then Weber clears the puck to the blue line, Mango gets it back and Brownie goes hard for the net. The defenceman who was watching him reacts too slow and panics. He goes for Brownie, just as Brownie is crashing the net. There's a mad confusion that somehow ends up with Brownie crumpled up in the back of the net and Price howling at his own d-core.

"Fuck!" Naz launches himself over the boards even as both refs start blowing it up. 

"So much for 'there's no way he's nesting'," Willy spits but he's following. Both benches are emptying onto the ice, ignoring the frenzied whistles. Zach drops his water bottle and sees Sparky racing up the ice out of the corner of his eye.

Price is snarling at the refs, jabbing at them with his stick and his team is milling around. The Leafs are hurrying down the ice and the linesmen are trying to hold them back. A nesting goalie can seriously fuck team instincts and Montreal are starting to snap and snarl.

Brownie still hasn't moved.

Zach ducks past JT and Matts who are squaring off against Gallagher and Domi (which looks exactly as ridiculous as it sounds). He can't see Connor properly; Price is hunched down between the posts, growling like a junkyard dog. Zach shoves aside the first guy in red. He can't even tell if Connor's breathing.

"Brownie! Hey! Brownie!"

The refs have given up on their whistles and are trying to bodily keep the two teams apart. Connor hasn't even twitched and when Price darts at one of the linesmen for getting too close, Zach sees blood on the ice.

One of the refs pushes him back and Zach shrugs him off.

"I have to- He's not moving! I think he's hurt! BROWNIE!"

Price is still growling, low and vicious. Zach's so focused on trying to dodge around the linesmen with the horizontal stripes (every Instinct-Response official must be on the ice) that he doesn't even realize what's missing until Freddie fucking _ROARS_ about six inches behind him.

The Leafs scramble madly to get out of his way. Freddie has half the training staff hanging off him and doesn't seem to have noticed. He's entirely focused on Brownie and on Price. Price snarls back, not nearly as loud but the way he plants himself in the crease suggests that he's not going to be intimidated.

Zach can feel his own lip curling and he pushes close to Freddie's side. Matts plants himself against Freddie's other shoulder and the two teams square up. The officials are a very thin black and white line between them and everyone's growling or swearing. It feels like the split second before a line brawl, the first punch thrown and the instant before all the other bodies come barrelling in.

Brownie still hasn't moved.

* * *

Connor wakes up slowly, in the scattered sort of way that tells him he got his bell rung. He can't remember how to move so he just stays where he is and breathes. He's cold, he hurts and there's a supernova going off in his brain. His mouth is sticky and tastes of copper. His ears are ringing.

He tries opening his eyes. Snaps them shut immediately and groans as his stomach twists and the sticky-copper taste gets mixed with bile. He can't even roll over - his pads are all twisted and Connor can't get himself coordinated enough to do anything about it.

Someone is growling.

It doesn't sound right.

"Fr-reddie?" Connor's voice cracks and he chokes on something slick and disgusting.

The growling gets louder but there's another growl, further away. Connor knows that growl and...wait, Freddie isn't supposed to be nesting until like February?

"Connor? Connor, can you hear me?" It takes a second to recognize that voice. It's Jenna, one of the trainers who works with them when Freddie's nesting. 

Connor manages to get his arm up to block out the light that is still shining red through his eyelids. "Freddie?"

"Okay, Mr Price? Carey, can I call you Carey?" Jenna's voice takes on a glossy 'how can I help' tone. "Connor is hurt."

There's another growl.

"I know, it's not your fault and you're taking care of him," Jenna says soothingly. "But you can't check him out and keep watch."

The growl gets louder.

"I'm not going to take him away," Jenna says soothingly and Connor's head is pounding. His mouth is sticky and wet in the sort of way that makes him think he's gonna hurl. He's cold, so fucking cold and he doesn't know where he is. 

"Freddie?" Connor calls and the rival growls start up in nearly perfect unison. Connor lets his head tip to the side, risks the too-bright light to take a fleeting glance. He's in a net but the jersey between him and the world is red, not blue.

"Connor, I need you to be quiet," Jenna says, still with that customer service gloss in her voice. 

Connor bites his lip because the shivering is starting and every shake sends lightning pinballing around his brain. He really is going to be sick and he can't think around the pain in his head and down his neck. 

"Okay, okay," Jenna's voice gets a little closer and the growls soften a little. "It's okay, I'm just helping. It's okay."

Connor flinches from the brush of latex-gloved fingers against his cheek and chokes on something salty and sticky. He gets rolled onto his side, coughs, chokes and spits. Someone has a bruising grip on his shoulder, holding him in place. The gloved fingers push into his mouth and poke his teeth. Connor can't even curl away with the grip on his shoulder holding him in place.

There's more talking but he can't hear it over the pounding in his head. He winces away from hands running down his arm and along his side. Someone jabs at the side of his head and Connor jerks back. 

There's an immediate snarl and the sounds of someone scrabbling on ice. Connor forces his eyes open. Everything is painfully white for an agonizing second. Then the world comes into focus; it's still mostly white but that's the ice and the net beside him. There's a looming mass of red attached to the grip on his shoulder and Jenna is squashed into the side of the net.

"Easy, easy," Jenna says but she's not talking to him.

There's another growl and the grip on his shoulder tightens again. Jenna has just her fingers resting on his temple and when she moves, pain flashes through his head. Connor whines. Another snarl and Jenna's shouldered away. The red jersey fills his whole field of vision and Connor can hear voices. Familiar voices.

"-st leave him like-!" Zach.

"Fucking move your-" Mitch.

And another growl, louder and further away. "Freddie!"

He gets shoved back in the net. The camera jabs into the small of his back and he yelps. The noise gets a lot louder. The familiar growl cuts through it. The red jersey - the guy in it, rather - tenses up. 

"Brownie, I need you to just stay quiet for a minute, okay?" Jenna sounds strained. "Carey, I know you're protec-"

The twin growls drown her out and Connor gets his elbow under him. He can see, just beyond Price, there's a mass of red jerseys and flashes of white and blue. His team are there. He can hear Hyms trying to argue with someone and there are shouts as someone starts throwing punches. He can't see Freddie.

"Carey," Jenna tries again. "Carey, we need to get Brownie off the ice."

Price's growl softens a little and he pulls Connor closer. Connor skids over the ice. He's lost his gloves somewhere and he can't push away. Price is looking back and forth, tapping his stick on the ice, then looking back at the two teams milling around in front of his net.

"Can we get one of the doors open?" Jenna sounds like she's talking to someone else. "The one there?"

There's an answer in French that Connor doesn't understand. Price swipes at something or someone and there's more shouting. He tries to roll a little and gets hauled back. He doesn't have the leverage or the co-ordination to fight back. He's starting to shiver, the ice-melt seeping through his pads and he's dizzy just with the effort of breathing.

Something rattles and there's more French. Connor can recognize the swear words but beyond that, it's just gibberish. It's coming from behind the net and Price starts getting agitated, snapping and hissing like an angry cat.

"You need to get out of the way," Jenna shouts.

More French. More growling. Connor's stomach is curling in on itself. He feels like he's on a roller-coaster. Then Price goes quiet for a moment. Connor tries to twist so he's got some give in his jersey. He's yanked sideways, barely gets his arm up to protect his head from the post and then he's being dragged across the ice.

The noise erupts as he scrabbles to try and get his skates under him. He's jerked along and he loses his helmet, skins a couple of knuckles trying to catch his balance. There's a swirl of colours, red and blue, and he thinks he hears Freddie over the shouting.

Then he's tripping over the rubber mats and Price grabs his hip as well. He bounces off the wall and gets spun around and pushed through a door. He recognizes the distinctive locker room stink immediately.

Price lets go and Connor half-skids, half-falls into one of lockers. He manages to get his butt on one of the benches while Price blocks the door. His heart is thumping wildly. He can hear the panicky rasp of his breathing and the room is too bright, too open. His head is still ringing and the world spins every time he turns his head. This isn't the Leafs' locker room.

He doesn't want to be here.

Price is trying to wedge the door shut. He doesn't look ...right. Connor doesn't know the guy but this isn't normal behaviour, not even for a nesting goalie. He's too agitated. He's also not supposed to just grab a player, much less an opposing player, to ease his instincts.

Price hasn't even taken his mask off. He finishes fiddling with the door and half-turns to look at Connor. His eyes are _all_ pupil and he's panting a little, faint growls escaping on the exhale. There's no-one else in the room but Connor feels trapped.

* * *

"This is fucking _bullshit_!" Willy spits and Zach doesn't even wince at the language. This absolutely is bullshit. 

"Fucking Price," Kappy glares at the line of officials blocking the corridor.

"How did nobody realize he was nesting?!" Mango is pacing. Coach is arguing with some guys in suits and Zach's itching to go over but he stays put. Mo and Gards are blocking the locker-room door.

Everyone else is watching Freddie pace back and forth like a barely caged animal. Sparky is hunkered down in the furthest possible corner with JT and Naz hiding him. Zach looks away when Freddie stops to glare down the corridor. Mitch has an icepack pressed to his lip, courtesy of Max Domi, and Matts is bouncing back and forth on his skates.

"I don't know," Zach says to Mango. "Nobody ever really talked about it. Brownie was-"

Freddie makes an inhuman sound and Zach shuts up.

Jenna hurries over to try and talk to Freddie, only to be snarled back out of the locker room. Freddie hasn't let her near him since they were all herded off the ice. Zach gets why she was making nice with Price but Freddie's clearly way past logical thinking.

Zach looks over to Coach again. He's red in the face and gesturing from Freddie to the corridor that's still full of Habs players. Weber's actually doing a good job of keeping his boys calm and away from the Leafs. He's also keeping them between the two locker rooms which means nobody can get to Price. The doctors have tried to get Price to let them in but he won't even let them open the door.

The Leafs trainer told Coach that he could hear Connor, so he's not unconscious but they didn't see him. Jenna's worried about the head injury. Zach's worried about the trail of blood Brownie left on the ice when Price dragged him off. Coach is worried about Brownie and the goalie still pacing the locker room.

"What the fuck was up with Price?" Gards says. "He's never even met Brownie."

Huh. Zach looks over at the Habs. "Who's supposed to be his nesting partner?"

Everyone looks around and then like three different people go for their phones.

"Nothing on Google," Mango says after a second, "but the League doesn't publish that stuff. The only partner actually named on Wikipedia is Lundqvist's defenceman."

Zach gets up and goes over to the corridor. The Habs are sitting or standing around and he does a quick head-count. There's no-one missing that he can see. Weber sees him and Zach picks his way across the mat.

"Hey, just wondering who's Price supposed to be nesting with?"

Weber doesn't say anything and the players closest to Zach look away. Zach looks around at them.

"What? Who is it?"

"He, uh," Weber does an awkward shrug-like thing. "He hasn't had one since I got here."

Zach feels his eyebrows rise. "He hasn't had a nesting partner for more than two years?"

"Pricey handles it in the off-season," Weber says gruffly. 

Zach retreats back into the locker room and goes right for Sparky. Naz and JT shuffle out of the way.

"So, according to Weber, Price doesn't have a preferred nesting partner," Zach says. "I might not be Brownie, but that doesn't sound right to me?"

"Uh, yeah, no," Sparky blinks at him. "No way he's gone that long without nesting. He'd be nuts."

"Weber said Price hasn't had one since he came to the team," Zach says.

"No way," Sparks says. "No way he's gone that long without nesting. Not playing at his level. He'd have to nest. Like, you guys talk shit about crazy goalies now. It'd be so much worse if he wasn't nesting."

"Hmmm," JT glances over at his locker. "I might be able to get more information. Give me a minute."

He leaves Zach to help block Freddie's view of Sparky. Freddie is still visibly seething and Zach's like 95% certain that he's starting to nest himself. It's hard to be sure because normally, Brownie knows it's coming long before anyone else does. Since he came to the Leafs, Freddie's nesting means Brownie having a word with Coach, the two of them disappearing for a couple of days and then everything goes back to normal. Zach only knows about Freddie's pre-Leafs nesting habits from a conversation with Cogliano in a bar on their first Florida trip. 

Zach had thought Cogliano was bullshitting them but he's not sure any more. Freddie genuinely looks like he's going to kill someone.

JT comes back to the locker room with his phone in his hand. "I think I know how to fix this."

* * *

"No!" Connor swats blindly at the hand that's reaching for him. "Fuck off already!"

He has to swallow the bile that's creeping up the back of his throat. His hands are shaking and he's given up trying to keep them still. He doesn't know how long he's been in here. There's no clock, the light is too bright for him to focus on anything and, honestly, as if he wasn't already sick to his stomach, the whole room stinks.

It isn't helped by the fact that Price is hovering. 

A tiny part of Connor feels bad for the guy. Price is obviously nesting. He's not even verbal anymore which means he's got it bad. Most of Connor's brain feels that the guy has his own damn team and no matter how bad he needs to nest, he doesn't get to grab Connor. 

Connor really wants Freddie.

He can't stand up without the world spinning so he's hunkered down in a corner, half-sitting on someone's gear. He's still wearing most of his own gear because he's really not comfortable getting even semi-naked with a strange goalie going through nesting right there. Connor's only done non-platonic nesting with Freddie, goalie nesting in juniors is strictly platonic but the way Price keeps trying to touch him suggests that NHL goalies prefer non-platonic.

It makes Connor's skin crawl. 

Price's need is like a sour smell and Connor's itching with the need to get away. He doesn't feel safe here. He wants lots of layers between them. He wants his own locker room, filled with his own team-mates. He wants Freddie.

He's learned not to say Fredddie's name. Price gets antsy when Connor calls for Freddie and he gets aggressive. Price hasn't hurt him directly but Connor's ended up on the floor twice and they're both still wearing skates. Connor can't balance on his own skates and his legs are shaking.

Connor's getting tired. It's making Price hover and he keeps trying to wrap Connor in a towel or make him drink water. Connor refuses every time but he's tired and he's cold. He's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to chase Price off.

The knock on the door startles them both. Price shoots upright and glares at it. Connor manages not to fall off his perch but he has to grab the bench and hold tight for a second or two. The knock comes again and Price bristles at the door, moving so he's blocking Connor from sight.

The door opens and Price's growl cuts off like some-one hit a mute button. Connor can't see anything but Price's back so he's confused.

"Not going to say 'hi', huh?" Connor knows that voice, he's nearly sure he knows that voice but he can't place it. "You're just lucky I was in New York, Pricey."

Price tilts his head. Connor has to close his eyes for a second against the reflected glare from his mask. There's a second where the tension draws taut and then Price reaches up to pull off his mask and toss it aside.

"There you are," the voice has come closer and Connor dares to try shuffling up onto the bench. "Stubborn dumbass. How's about we get your new friend over there back to his boys and get out of here?"

Price turns his head and Connor flinches back instinctively. That backfires, Price spinning around to reach for him with a questioning whine. Connor's stomach decides that it's had enough of this and he chokes on the bile and folds over on the urge to puke.

"Brown-?!" The door rattles open again and Price snarls and he must do something because there's a bang. Then silence.

Connor tries to look up and wobbles again. A hand drops onto his shoulder and he blinks at the guy who's looking down at him. It takes a second to connect the sharp suit and the almost familiar face. 

"Steady there," PK Subban flashes him a smile brighter than the overhead lights. "Brown, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," Connor swallows again. "Hi?"

"You're bleeding a bit there, bud," Subban says.

"Went into the net," Connor manages. Subban hisses in sympathy and then Price comes back to frown down at them. "Freddie?"

"That's your goalie, huh?" Subban lets go of him to pat Price on the shoulder. "Come on now. No, no, no growling. He should go back to _his_ goalie now. I'm not doing exhibitionist shit while he's probably concussed."

The door rattles and Price hisses again.

"That's just JT," Subban starts and then he stops and looks at Price. "What? He not good enough for your goalie sensibilities?"

Price shakes his head, still glaring at the door.

"Seriously?" Subban rolls his eyes, looking down at Connor like Connor's going to have an opinion on this. "He's not going to make it out of the room on his own, Pricey, c'mon."

Price growls and Subban sighs dramatically. Connor's still sick and shaky and he wants- "Freddie?"

"Yeah, just a second, buddy." Subban goes to the door, Price crowding up behind him with a hand fisted in the back of his suit jacket. "I'm not going anywhere, geez, Pricey. I just need to get someone in to help the kid."

There's more talking but Connor has his face in his hands. There's something sticky on his face. It stings to pull his hand away and the world is getting a little blurry. He's starting to shiver violently and he can't make himself stop. The door closes, opens again and Price rumbles, not quite a growl.

"Oh thank fuck," Subban says.

"Uh, Sparks, actually," Sparky's voice sounds like it's coming from the far side of the ice but when Connor looks up, he's standing inside the door. He catches Connor's eye and his eyes go wide. "Fuck, Brownie. Jesus, how hard did you get hit?"

"Hard enough that he's a little unsteady," Subban says from behind Price, "and Pricer doesn't want just anyone taking care of him."

"Yeah, okay," Sparky comes hurrying over. "Brownie?"

"Freddie?" Connor can't think how to form any other words.

"Yeah, he's worried about you," Sparky looks over at Price. "The officials wouldn't let him come down because he's ...uh, he's a little pissed at Price."

Price snorts and puffs up. Subban shakes his head, Connor thinks, but Sparky is pulling his arm up over his shoulder and the world tries to tip sideways under his feet. Sparky just grabs him, lets Connor steady himself and gets them moving towards the door. Price is still rumbling unhappily but he can hear Subban talking, a low counterpoint. 

Sparky pulls him through the door and the cold air hits him like a pissed off d-man. Connor manages not to topple over. Sparky is talking, all meaningless assurances and he's carrying more than half Connor's weight.

"-be okay, Brownie, I promise."

There are players in the corridor but two lines of officials too who shoo them back so Connor can totter in the direction of the visitor's locker room. There's a couple of guys in suits at the door who step out of the way. Sparky is starting to fall into a familiar rhythm; he's not due to nest for months, Connor thinks and there's a flare of what might have been panic but he's too tired and cold. He's struggling to keep his feet under him, the rubber mat as slick as mostly-melted ice. 

The door opens and there's a brief flash of white and blue jerseys. Sparky drops his head just enough to whisper "Sorry about this." and he lets go. Connor grabs for the doorframe, clumsy and slow. There's a confusing second before he's just swept off his feet. 

"Freddie." It comes out on an exhale and the arms around him tighten.

"Brownie!" "Connor!"

Freddie snarls and pulls him away. Connor grabs onto Freddie's shirt, his skates skidding on the floor and there's a confusion of sound. When Connor tunes back into the world, he's been gathered into Freddie's lap with his forehead pressed against Freddie's neck. Freddie is growling steadily and petting at Connor's hair and neck. Connor blinks slowly, then he shivers. Freddie's burningly hot and Connor's suddenly aware of just how cold he is.

"Freddie!" Jenna's voice. Freddie goes rigid against him. "Freddie, look. He's shaking."

Freddie shifts his grip and Connor tries to lean into him.

"He's wet from the ice," Jenna's voice drops to a soothing sing-song. "He needs to get his gear off and I need to put some stitches into that head wound. I need to stop the bleeding."

Freddie growls and Connor gets manhandled over to the bench. His jersey comes off with a ripping sound and it binds around his arms. Connor flounders and somehow his pads come off. He can't steady himself against the tugs and only Freddie's arm, solid and hot, around his waist keeps him from falling over. He gets pulled back into Freddie's lap when he's down to his Under armor and his hands get batted away when he tries to reach for his laces. Connor's still shaking and it feels like his brain is rattling against his skull.

Somehow he winds up stripped to his Under Armor, shivering in Freddie's grip while Jenna and the team doctor clean him up. Connor can just about hold still for the stitches that get put in his head. Freddie growls the whole way through, hanging onto Connor crushingly tight. There's more talking but Connor can't make sense of it. He just lets himself slump into Freddie's embrace, breathing unevenly against Freddie's neck.

A new voice joins the conversation and Freddie tenses, then settles. Connor pries his eyes open and winces away from the too-bright light. Zach's standing there, off to one side and he smiles when he catches Connor's eye and holds out a hoodie.

"You're looking a little cold," Zach says, "and I think it's snowing out there."

Connor reaches for the hoodie, can't coordinate his fingers on the first try but he manages to snag it eventually. Freddie helps him pull it over his head and Connor's swamped in it. He doesn't actually need to look at the number on the sleeve; Freddie's growling has softened and Connor would know that cologne anywhere. His 'thank you' comes out a little slurred but Zach gives him a thumbs up.

"Freddie-" Coach, Connor thinks "-we've got a car waiting outside."

Freddie grumbles and Connor is eased upright again. Freddie stands up, supporting most of Connor's weight and Connor has to focus on getting his feet under him. He's still cold, shivering every few seconds. Everything is still too loud and too bright and he has no idea where they're going. He's just letting Freddie haul him along until there's colder air and a car.

Freddie pulls and tugs at him until Connor's half in his lap with Freddie's arms looped around him. The car lurches and a whimper escapes before Connor can clamp his mouth shut. Freddie pets his hair as Connor swallows back the bile and presses his face against Freddie's throat. His head is still pounding and the world is too bright even through his eyelids. He presses close to Freddie and just tries to breathe through the spinning nausea and confusion.

* * *

Connor doesn't tune back into the outside world until Freddie closes the front door of his apartment behind them. He blinks and the world swims into focus around him. Freddie has an arm around his waist and Connor shivers. He's still gross with dried sweat and the Under Armor under his hoodie is stuck to his skin. He feels like shit and he's starting to shake. Freddie wraps him up in a crushing hug so tight that Connor can barely breathe. He pats at Freddie's side, arms pinned. "I'm okay."

Freddie growls and nips his neck. Connor yelps. "I'm cold and I'm sore but I'm okay. He didn't touch me."

Freddie bites him harder and Connor squeaks. Freddie lets up but licks the bruise as he adjusts his hold on Connor.

"Freddie, dude, no," Connor leans his head against Freddie's shoulder. "I'm gross. You don't want that in your mouth, man, come on!"

Freddie presses his forehead against Connor's, careful of the stitches and very deliberately licks Connor's cheek.

"Grooosss!" Connor sing-songs at him and Freddie smiles.

Honestly, the part that's bugging Connor most is that he can't really smell Freddie over the post-game funk and the reek of the antiseptic. He wriggles a little. Freddie allows it, brows drawing down and the faintest growl vibrating in his throat. Connor can feel the blush which means he's probably as red as a Habs jersey but he squirms around until he can tuck his nose under Freddie's jaw and just breathe him in. Freddie's growl shifts to a pleased purr and he rubs a big, warm hand up along Connor's spine. Connor's always more aware of how much bigger than him Freddie is when he's nesting. Normally Freddie's very careful with Connor but nesting cranks the intensity up to eleven and Connor's more into it than he's comfortable admitting.

Freddie's hand skims the back of his head and Connor winces. Freddie's purr shifts back to a growl and he starts herding Connor through the apartment. Connor just lets him. He's still feeling a little unsteady on his feet, his head is aching in big throbbing pulses and he still feels a little queasy. The bathroom lights are too bright but he panics a little every time he closes his eyes; it feels like he's back in that locker room with Price circling. He has to lean against the basin while Freddie fusses around him. The bathroom isn't really big enough to fit them both but Connor's cool with it because it means he can prove Freddie's there just by reaching out.

Freddie catches his hand and kisses the back of it as he turns the shower on. Connor lets Freddie pull him upright and strip his clothes off. Freddie keeps a hand over Connor's stitches as he pulls his UnderArmor off. Freddie bundles up all his Under Armour in a tight ball. Connor shivers violently when Freddie opens the window and dumps Connor's clothes. Connor's protest gets lost in his chattering teeth and Freddie ignores it, lifting Connor carefully into the shower.

The water is so hot it feels like ice on his skin for a second. Freddie steps between him and the spray and Connor leans into him. He's exhausted. Freddie is humming again. Connor's heard the song come up on Freddie's Spotify a time or two but he's never asked. It's Danish, he's pretty sure but he only hears it from Freddie when he's nesting. Freddie puts a hand on his hip and gently cups Connor's chin with the other. It stings and Connor winces. Freddie's grip tightens and Connor forces his eyes open.

"Stings," he says, blinking against the spray. "Musta skinned it when I went down."

Freddie rumbles, displeased and tips Connor's head up to kiss him. It's a pushy kiss, Freddie tipping Connor's head so he can press his tongue past Connor's teeth. Connor lets his eyes flutter shut, holding onto Freddie to keep his balance and just lets Freddie kiss him. Freddie's the best kisser Connor knows but he's more demanding when he's nesting and it's easier to just relax and let him kiss Connor's breath away.

He tucks his head under Freddie's chin when Freddie reaches for the shower gel. He's yawning as Freddie soaps him up and rinses him off. He doesn't understand why Freddie's so intent until he gets rinsed off for the third time and Freddie sniffs his shoulder. His shoulder where Price grabbed him.

"He smelled funny," Connor says drowsily. "Like, wrong?"

Freddie presses his growl against Connor's collarbone.

"I was going to throw up on him," Connor hiccups around a giggle. It wasn't funny at the time but crowded so close that all he can feel is Freddie, it kind of is now. Freddie nips his ear as he snags the shampoo bottle. Connor closes his eyes as Freddy washes his hair. He feels the whine as Freddie covers the stitches and he gropes for Freddie's hip.

"'S cool," he tells Freddie. 

Freddie's still super gentle. It's strange. Connor's used to Freddie hauling him around like a sack of potatoes during the early stages of nesting. This careful touching is new. 

He gets herded out of the shower and Freddie dries him off while Connor fights not to just curl up on the floor and sleep. Freddie sweeps him off his feet and Connor gets carried back to the bedroom. Freddie leaves the lights off and Connor mumbles a thank you. His head is still aching fiercely as Freddie tucks a pillow under it. His fingers skim the edges of Connor's stitches even as he kisses the line of Connor's neck. 

Connor lets his eyes slide closed even as Freddie moves to kiss him properly. He feels loose, all his muscles turned to water and he lets Freddie guide his arms up to cross his wrists. Freddie presses his wrists into the mattress and Connor sighs, spreading his legs. Freddie hums against his collarbone and bites him approvingly. It's a sharp sting that tapers into a slow burn as Freddie's tongue rasps against his skin. Connor shivers when Freddie breathes out over tender skin.

He drifts a little as Freddie works his way down. He couldn't move if he wanted to but why would he want to? He's warm and the bed smells of him and Freddie and his arousal is a slow-burning heat. Freddie takes forever to work up to three fingers and Connor's whining in his throat.

"Frrrreddie," he begs. 

Freddie nudges his legs further apart and shifts so he's looming over Connor, pressing Connor's wrists down even as he nips at Connor's lip. Connor whines again and Freddie chuckles, low and smug. 

"Please, Freddie!"

Connor always has that moment of panic when Freddie starts pressing in and he really gets to feel how big Freddie is. There's a flicker of panic and it's-not—going-to-fit! Normally Freddie takes it slow and easy but when he's nesting he's always more impatient. Connor arches up and Freddie just squashes him right back onto the bed. Connor gulps and Freddie kisses him. There's nowhere to go. Connor just has to lie there and take it. It stretches, stings but never tips over into actual pain. He can't do anything but take it and Freddie breaks the kiss to growl against his neck. Connor can't manage more than a hitching gasp as Freddie bottoms out. Freddie goes still over him and Connor pants desperately for air.

"Freddie, please, please, please," he chants "Come on, please?"

Freddie studies him; Connor can't read his expression in the dark. Then Freddie noses against his neck. Connor lets his head tip to the side and Freddie latches on. It's just under Connor's ear. _Too high_ , Connor thinks hazily. He's never going to be able to cover that up with his Under Armor. He thinks that should matter but Freddie starts to move and Connor's higher brain functions evaporate.

Freddie takes his time, slow and deliberate and Connor feels like he's slow-roasting in his own skin. Everything that isn't Freddie's teeth against his neck and the slow building heat falls away. Connor's release is a warm rush that leaves him dizzy and half-asleep. Freddie licks over the burning stinging mark on his neck and hisses. Connor's just on the right side of over-sensitive and he's fighting to keep his eyes open. All the tension goes out of Freddie and he flattens Connor into the bed under his weight.

Connor barely feels it. He's floating now, all the aches and pains lost under a haze of pleasure. Connor's eyes feel heavy and he turns his head, blindly searching for Freddie. Freddie's growl shifts into a satisfied purr. He bites Connor's neck lazily and hums when Connor groans. He's sinking into sleep, barely aware of Freddie's mouth against his collarbone and his chest.

Connor yawns and Freddie lets go of his wrists to pet his hair. Connor smiles sleepily and Freddie kisses him. 

"Definitely nesting then?" Connor says and Freddie presses his thumb into the tingling bruise on Connor's neck.

Connor blinks at him but it's no good, he's too tired. Freddie's other hand comes up to cover Connor's eyes and Freddie kisses him again. 

"Okay, okay," Connor yawns again. "Sleeping now."

Freddie purrs again, latching on to Connor's neck again. Connor manages to get a hand up far enough to brush his fingers through Freddie's hair.

"Thanks for coming for me," he says and Freddie hums, fingers pressing into the bruise on his neck.


End file.
